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<title>Passing on The Torch by CoolCactusJuice</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22485538">Passing on The Torch</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoolCactusJuice/pseuds/CoolCactusJuice'>CoolCactusJuice</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Destiny (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drabble, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 14:15:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>637</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22485538</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoolCactusJuice/pseuds/CoolCactusJuice</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>My own interpretation on how the Guardian came to inherit Shin Malphur's weapon - 'The Last Word'.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Passing on The Torch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He made his entrance alit by a warm, red evening sky – his battered cape flickering in the wind like a flame. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to, but your Ghost – keen as always – took the first initiative; it took a minute or two for him to pipe down. The man laughed – a far cry from the stories you’d heard about a vengeful hunter who hunted those who walked a darker path. He told you he wasn’t used to people being so star-struck – especially ghosts. </p><p>You were far sterner. You knew why he was here. You’d read the letters written in bold ink. It didn’t take a genius to know who the writer was. Who else but him would warn you of the repercussions of turning from the light and the punishment that came with it?  A punishment that would be administered by him. </p><p>The man knelt down and looked into the small campfire you’d managed to light, peering into it without fault – eyes never blinking. He told you he’d heard of your loss. Your anger. Your vengeance. How he thought for if only a second that you might’ve strayed and lost your way. His tone steeled as he told you tales of those who had drowned in anger and emerged as monsters, and at that moment you couldn’t tell which flame was fiercer, the campfire or the driven man before you. He finally stopped and turned from the flames to look at you before telling you that nothing he said mattered. He knew you’d chosen the flames over the shadows. He could see it in your eyes - and in your ghost. A beat passed before he grunted in amusement, telling you that you were just as silent as he'd heard. </p><p>The man stood up and turned to face you, his eyes inviting you to do the same. You were standing up before you even realised it, staring back at him. He pulled his hood down with a gloved hand. Guardians never aged in anything except their eyes, and the man had eyes that told a tale of endless pursuit. He told you that anger was important. Vengeance was important. Every feeling of frustration and silent rage that you’d ever felt was important – as a motivator, not the motive. He told you to stand above it and let it drive you to do good, not let it burn your ember out for good. </p><p>At that moment, his ghost burst into life from a sea of light – as bright as he was. She turned to him and nodded. A smile graced his weathered lips before he pulled the legend out from its holster. A golden gun that shined with a promise of light. Not the Traveller’s light, but the light of humanity and a better tomorrow. </p><p>The man looked down at his third father’s promise with a look of solemn purpose, running the one finger not covered by leather along its golden traces before matching your gaze again. He walked towards you, dignified and tall, before asking for your hand – a hand you presented to him without question. </p><p>He placed the gun in your hand and you could feel the weight of every vengeful promise the man had ever made – yet you held it without struggle. This was your promise to him. A promise to fight for all the good that humanity could muster. Every flame that graced the world and every flame that had ever died out beneath the shadows. He walked back into the sunset soon after, taking the red evening sky with him. You weren't sure if you'd ever see him again. </p><p>No matter how dark the unknown, never forget the torch Shin Malphur gave you – nor the promise he made you.</p><p>“Yours, until the last flame dies and all words have been spoken.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, uh, this is basically my first fic ever - if you could even call it that. I've fallen in love with Destiny after trying it a little while ago and I honestly love the lore the game has - particularly the way some of the lore tabs are written. The entire basis of the fic was to try and emulate some of that style of writing while taking my own spin on how and when Shin gives the Guardian his iconic weapon - The Last Word. I'm not really sure if there's already a canon lore entry or event in the first Destiny (I only played the vanilla version on the 360 way back in 2014, lmao) that describes how and when Shin gives it to you but I felt inspired to write a piece so here you go.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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